


Damn All Randalls

by Kerfunkulus



Category: Outlander (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Asphyxiation, Battle, Blasphemy, Blood and Gore, Bullying, Canon-Typical Violence, Dark Comedy, Domestic Violence, Dysfunctional Family, Emotional Manipulation, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Medical Inaccuracies, Misogyny, Non-Consensual Blow Jobs, Past Rape/Non-con, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychopathology & Sociopathy, Sadism, Suicide Attempt, Victim Blaming
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-16
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:01:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 21
Words: 15,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25933300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kerfunkulus/pseuds/Kerfunkulus
Summary: What if Black Jack survived Culloden?
Relationships: Jonathan "Black Jack" Randall/Mary Hawkins Randall, Jonathan "Black Jack" Randall/Other(s)
Comments: 62
Kudos: 37





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. It is primarily a tribute to two great fictional characters, created by Diana Gabaldon and brought to life in the Outlander TV series. Most of all, I have to stay true to them and tell a story which I feel is in keeping with their circumstances and characters. As such, it contains explicit material, including scenes of what we would now call domestic violence. It should go without saying that I do not support staying with, or making excuses for, any abuser in real life. 
> 
> **Please check all warnings/tags before proceeding.**
> 
> Author's Note: Here's a quick guide to when various characters (re)enter the story. This list will grow as time goes on. :D 
> 
> Chapter 6 - Denys Randall  
> Chapter 7 - Baronet and Lady Hawkins
> 
> *There's a very unpleasant, brutal scene in chapter 15. I felt that it was important to include it, for various reasons. However, if in doubt, please skip it. The rest of the story should still make sense even if you don't read it.

Jonathan Wolverton Randall, Captain of His Majesty’s 8th Dragoons and lately Terror of the Traitorous Highlanders, lolled in the back of a stagecoach as the pale sun rose ahead of him. Groaning queasily into the weathered wood to his left, his empty stomach heaving, he closed his eyes and tried to let the motion lull him back into oblivion. The pink streaks on the horizon, soft and hazy and so unlike the penetrating grey of the country he had left behind, put him in mind of the blood, diluted by the mud and damp of Culloden, which had deluged his uniform and finally his consciousness. He had a dim vision of Fraser, running towards him, and then somehow falling away from him, away from his outstretched sword arm, before he could deliver the death blow. The next thing he knew, he was unable to move, lying helpless as some unknown highlander, his kilt revealing far too much, stampeded over him towards an enemy beyond, before toppling himself, face forward, into the mud. 

It had been with considerable consternation that he gradually found himself, rising out of the heat of fever, to be lying on a rough camp bed at Fort William, surrounded by the stench of those whose wounds had gone bad slowly rotting to death around him. More irksome still was the surgeon who proclaimed him destined for either a slow demise or an even slower recovery, depending on which way he went himself. All of his strength seemed to have fled him, and he was for a long time powerless against the sick ministrations of those around him. 

One particular incident stayed with him; a lieutenant, barely more than a boy, had somehow discerned the strength of Randall’s constitution and his promising chances of survival from his place on the other side of the room. The captain awoke one night to find the boy clasping his hand, rambling some nonsense about his sister and a letter, the stench of his gangrenous flesh hot in Randall’s nostrils. Somehow, he had not been able to muster the strength to push the boy away or even to reprimand him, and he lay there for the rest of the night in abject disgust until the boy finally disgorged his soul and his bodily fluids with it. When the whole mess was discovered next morning, Randall, his guts still roiling from the stench, had barely managed to grind out ‘…must send word of his demise only to his uncle…’ before he was violently sick all over himself, disgusted by both the corpse on top of him and the feebleminded idiocy of his attempted ‘revenge’. 

He had not, of course, much wanted to survive the battle in the first place. Be that as it may, however, he had. An actual wish for self-destruction was alien to a man such as himself, and it was mainly with indifference that he stared at the ceiling and pieced together the increasingly hopeful trajectory of his condition from the surgeon’s prattle. When he finally staggered out of the makeshift ward after being given leave to convalesce at home, and joined the supply wagon which was to take him as far as Edinburgh, he consoled himself that by coming home to his young wife he would at least be thoroughly disappointing that bitch Claire Fraser, who had planned with such certainty for the date of his death and the best use of his pension.

As the view outside the coach coalesced into the familiar road which would take them out of Bath, Jonathan Randall reflected on the sublime absurdity of a world which would bring a man such as himself home to a wife less than half his age, especially as he was now; still convalescent, if not actually crippled. The whole thing was so ridiculous, he couldn’t help chuckling aloud even as he winced, the sutures which were no longer there causing a phantom pull at the flesh in his stomach. 

He must have nodded off again, for the sun was higher in the sky when the coachman woke him, and the village of Chippenham floated into view in the distance. With some effort, he hoisted himself out of the coach while that fool, much too eager for the tip he would not now receive, liberated his trunk from the pile on top of the coach and, with a grossly ingratiating smile, deposited it on the steps of Randall’s modest country house.


	2. Chapter 2

After Alex’s death and John’s shocking reaction to it, Claire Fraser had covered up Alex’s bloodied face, and had his body taken away to the nearest suitable church. She then asked her young friend to come with her to a nearby inn to sleep, reasoning that Jack was likely off drowning his sorrows in drink, so that Mary could be of no further use to him. For the first time, however, Mary felt she had to deny her friend’s well-meaning requests. It would hurt her, she said pointedly, to immediately leave the room where she had spent barely two happy months with Alex. This seemed to shock Claire. It was an expression Mary was unaccustomed to seeing on a woman who was usually so sure of herself. She was still more astonished when Claire actually acquiesced and left, after making her promise to lock herself into the empty room for the night, and not to open the door until morning. 

She did indeed sit alone for the rest of the night, though she scarcely noticed, wrapped up as she was in her own misery. Shamefully, she completely forgot that there was someone else who had loved Alex just as dearly, and was almost surprised when John showed up again next morning, red-eyed but offering no recrimination. Instead, he informed her of something she had known but barely thought of: the deciding battle against the French Pretender was almost upon them, and all available troops would of course be called to the cause. His leave was over, he said, and he must re-join his regiment. Before Mary could muster a single intelligent thought, he had hired a carriage, settled their bills, and thrust their marriage certificate and a good amount of coin upon her. As she left, he made her promise to go first to his house near Bath, ‘after which you may do as you wish; I will not in any case be there to stop you’. Indeed, on arriving at the picturesque cottage after her long and painful journey, she discovered that an official notice declaring John ‘mortally wounded’ was already waiting for her. 

Since then, she had met once with John’s lawyer, a pompous man who treated her like a child. She learnt little from him, except that, as she had suspected, Alexander Randall’s property amounted to almost nothing. His things could not, in any case, be released to her while his brother might still be alive. The lawyer ended by enjoining her not to meddle further in her husband’s business ‘until such a time as we can be sure that there is no more suitable person to manage it’. 

‘It’ appeared to consist mainly of the house, and so that was where she focussed her attention. The accounts allocated no housekeeping money, of course, apart from the little which actually went to the housekeeper to provision the kitchen. The rest of the staff consisted of the kitchen maid, who was delighted to promote herself to lady’s maid and follow Mary around the house, and an elderly gardener who also maintained the stables. Mary learned from them that the master had only acquired the house five years ago, mainly in order to ‘make like he was respectable, as it doesn’t do for an officer to have no home at all, you know’. She also learned that Master Alex, who was of course universally loved and looked upon with the greatest sympathy, had stayed there more often than John ever had, usually alone and during spells of ill-health. 

Mary had not written to her family since she had gone to tend to Alex, and she was mindful that he would have wanted their child to know its grandparents. She therefore wrote at the first opportunity, explaining that she was recently married and expecting a child, and informing them of her husband’s current condition. She entrusted the letter to a family acquaintance in the area, who promised to see it delivered into her parents’ hands. They in turn soon sent back a letter of condolence, noting in particular how recently her marriage had taken place, and wishing her well in inheriting her husband’s property, such as it might be. Accordingly, she returned home to John’s house, and cried. 

A few weeks later, a bland, official looking envelope addressed to ‘Mrs Jonathan Randall’ arrived. Inside, there was a short preamble in a well-educated hand, informing her of her husband’s ‘most grievous condition’ with a warning to ‘prepare your heart, Madam, for his _possible_ departure from this earth’. There followed two sides of atrocious cursive, in a much friendlier tone, from the surgeon. He seemed a kindly, attentive man, and he considerately tried to give her an account of her husband’s injuries which was detailed but not too horrifying. He further noted that, while not yet entirely lucid, her husband seemed to be regaining what must, under normal circumstances, be a fine sense of humour. In a soldier, the surgeon explained, this indicated a robust constitution and a lust for life which were highly encouraging. 

Mary didn’t doubt it. She remembered, after all, how John had gone rushing back and forth to see Alex, paying no heed to the punishing climate at Inverness, and never betraying any need to rest himself. She could not picture him in a bed, and somehow, though she knew it was foolish, she always imagined him storming about a hospital ward, still wrapped up in bandages but impatient to be set loose. She was therefore more delighted than surprised when, one mild and sunny August morning, she heard an odd commotion outside and the sound of something heavy scraping on the front steps and being deposited, finally, at the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last ‘background’ chapter. I honestly didn’t intend to write it, but Mary insisted on having her side of the story told before I could continue. I hope it works, and I promise that there’ll be some actual dialogue in chapter 3.


	3. Chapter 3

Randall had just succeeded in dragging his trunk up the few steps to his front door, and was leaning against the doorjamb trying to catch his breath, when he heard the key scraping in the lock. Straightening, he twisted his face into a dangerous sneer, the better to greet his maid, Agnes, with when the stupid wench finally managed to open the door. Instead, he was confronted with the unexpected: Mary, looking exactly as she had at Inverness save for her bulging stomach and a look of radiant joy which she had of course never worn while Alex lay dying. 

Randall had not really expected her to be there. He had assumed that the notice of his probable death would be enough to send her running back to her parents or into the arms of some new lover. He realised now, of course, that this could not be; she was a woman, after all, and would wait until this child was safely born before forgetting its sire. Besides, Alex would have chosen a partner who felt things as deeply as he did. She wasn’t likely to want to leave this house, or the few remaining relics of Alex’s existence, so soon. 

Mary was still staring at his face, and he noticed a slight frown darken her features, and that her hand came up to cover her eyes, briefly. Presumably, she did not like the sight of her husband very well, compared with the one she might have had. She recovered herself quickly, however, and held out her hands. 

‘It’s so, so good to see you, John!’, she exclaimed. ‘Oh, I really thought you would – but when the surgeon wrote to me he still wasn’t certain, you see. And then I didn’t hear anything after that for such a very long time.’

Randall, still trying to catch his breath, could do nothing more than nod. 

‘I’m so very glad you’re here!’ she reiterated, apparently not yet tired of that particular line. ‘I told the baby – it’s kicking, you know – I told it that it would soon meet its father, and that it had a father in heaven, too. I can’t wait for you to meet – but you must tell me what you’d like to name him, John, for I’m sure it’s a boy.’ She looked at him expectantly. 

‘You’re still wearing that damned dress’, Randall returned, not knowing what else to say. Mary looked down at herself in apparent astonishment. For a moment she was speechless, and Randall had time to catch his breath once again. 

‘I did not…Johnny, I looked at the accounts, but there wasn’t any pin-money in them. And I didn’t want to interfere in your affairs. Besides, Agnes is so very good at altering clothes to size, you know’. 

Jack rolled his eyes, but then collected himself. Arranging his face into what he hoped was a reassuring smile, he said ‘Indeed; I never doubted that you would have the situation well in hand, madam. However, I’ve had a rather trying journey. I would be grateful if….’ he broke off, as his stomach chose that moment to give a tremendous heave, and he descended into a fit of spluttering. Mary looked mortified. 

‘How awful of me, I’m so sorry John…’ Her prattle faded away as the doorstep began to spin. In short order, he found himself lying on the chaise longue in the parlour, Mary’s concerned face hovering above him while she gave orders for ‘tea’ and ‘the door’. Jack watched as a mad array of colours danced above him on the ceiling, and tried not to throw up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, it was always going to be awkward, wasn't it?
> 
> Next Up: Mary is still pregnant. And Jack is still Jack.


	4. Chapter 4

After John’s dreadful turn at the front door, Mary swore to herself she'd make sure that there were no more episodes of the kind. She hovered around him anxiously, always ready to help him on those occasions when he could not manage by himself. 

He would not let her look at his stomach, and bathed with the help of the gardener, which for some reason caused Agnes great relief. However, Mary soon realised that he also had other, older injuries. In particular, when he hoisted himself up using his arms or shoulders, he always winced, and once or twice she heard his joints crack in a most alarming fashion. Mary took to having him lean on her as he lifted himself to his feet, and while his irritation at this was obvious, it did seem to help. 

He still refused to discuss the baby, or anything else, with her, though he did ask every day if she was well. A few times as she was assisting him he lost his patience, and said something to the effect of ‘Idiot child, I’ll be too heavy for you if you do it like that’, so that she knew he really was concerned about her, but just did not know how to say so. 

Naturally, he slept in his study, as it was common knowledge that a husband lying with his wife during pregnancy might make the baby come early. Mary knew he would never do anything to risk Alex’s child, but suggested once or twice that he move to the much more comfortable guest room, for the sake of his joints, which he flatly refused. 

He spent a good deal of time shut up in his study, especially after teatime. There being no-one else to talk to but Agnes, who was much more subdued than she had been before, Mary found herself rather at a loose end. She began spending occasional afternoons visiting the Astleys, to whom she had entrusted her parents’ letter. In spite of the unflattering account they must have heard, they had not ended their acquaintance with her. Instead, they encouraged her to spend time with their eighteen year old daughter, Cressida, whom Mary had hated as a child, recognising her to be dull and vapid. 

Cressida had, of course, heard all about Mary’s marriage. However, she reassured Mary that she was keen to overlook the defects in her virtue - ‘out of Christian charity for a sinner’, she said. Mary sat through several conversations to this effect, through which she gritted her teeth. Finally Cressida’s father enjoined his daughter to drop the matter, since Mary was after all now a married woman of good standing. Thus reassured in her moral superiority, Cressida soon moved back to her real interests, which could be summed up as dresses, hair pins and cats. Mary was happy to follow her on short expeditions to dressmakers and hatters, occasionally buying something new for herself as well, which also seemed to please John.

One day, as they were ready to turn for home, the heavens suddenly opened, and a torrent of rain descended from the sky. Cressida, for once showing some sense, immediately insisted that Mary could not possibly walk home through the rain in her condition. She pulled her into a nearby teashop, where the owner, a kind and enormously fat old woman, directed them to the corner nearest the fire and plied Mary with all manner of sweetmeats. The downpour continued, and it was several hours before Cressida’s father, realising what had happened, dispatched a coach to collect them. By the time Mary arrived back at her front door, It was quite dark outside, and Cressida was nodding sleepily on her shoulder. 

Entering the house, she found John pacing furiously up and down the hallway. On seeing her, he turned around and, before she could utter a word, grabbed her hair and dragged her by it into the sitting room. Once there, he pushed her further into the room and began to unbuckle his belt. Mary was too stunned to speak for a moment, but then understood what this must be about, and said; 

‘I’m sorry, John. Really I am. I wanted to come home earlier, but Cressida and I were caught outside. And then…’

‘And then I suppose you thought me fool enough to let you stay out alone all night’. 

‘No, John, but the rain…’

‘Ah yes, by all means, we must blame the weather. How very English of us, and how very ladylike! I suppose you couldn’t have found a way home, even though you were only five miles away. Or did your companion prevent it? With her there, of course, you couldn’t reasonably be expected to come home to your husband before dark.’

‘Well, yes…I wasn’t alone, was I?’

‘No, I suppose you were in fine company, and found yourself quite at ease.’

‘Then, am I not to see anyone ever again, John?’

John looked at her incredulously at that, and his upper lip curled into a sneer. ‘No, not that. I couldn’t care less about your silly little friend’. 

‘What, then?’ 

Seemingly infuriated by the question, he advanced upon her, pulling his belt buckle over his fist. 

‘It’s really quite simple’ he said ‘Never defy me, girl. And never keep anything from me. And now I mean to make you scream so you don’t ever forget it’. 

Grabbing her hair again, he leaned backwards, and then slammed the belt buckle into her cheek. Mary cried out as a trickle of blood ran down her chin and under the collar of her dress. Still holding his belt, he curled one hand around her neck and she fell backwards, cradling her stomach as she went. She began sobbing, and might have fallen flat but for the fact that John was still clutching her, and did not release his hold. For a moment, there was nothing but him, looming over and around her. Then, looking down, he groaned aloud, and she felt the pressure on her neck ease off. His eyes were closed, lips pressed together, breath coming in short, sharp gasps. He seemed to collect himself, however, for he smoothed back his hair and then, with considerable effort, hoisted her upwards and deposited her into the chair at the writing desk on the other side of the room. Breathing heavily from the exertion, he was silent for some moments, so that Mary was able to recover somewhat. 

When she next looked up at him, he was standing at the other side of the desk, his eyes cold as he stared down at her. 

‘I suppose you’ll say that you’ve learned your lesson now.’

Mary, swallowing, did not know how to reply. 

Grabbing her hair yet again, he pulled her head backwards. Bending over her, he roared deafeningly into her face. ‘Well?’

‘Ye-yes, John’, Mary finally managed. ‘I’m so, so, …’

Abruptly releasing her, he moved back to the other side of the desk. 

‘Better. Now hold out your hands’. 

Mary obeyed. Her hands, she noted absently, seemed to be shaking of their own volition. 

‘Not like that’, John corrected. ‘Lay your palms upwards and open them’. She did. 

To her surprise, he brought his right hand to hers, and she felt his fingers drawing slowly across first her palm and then each finger in turn. It was almost soothing, and for a moment Mary thought that perhaps this was his way of trying to make it up to her. Abruptly, however, he stood up and brought his belt down on her palms with an unexpected and resounding ‘crack’. Mary started shaking again, more from surprise than from the pain. This blow was followed by exactly nine more, which did not hurt so very much as she had expected, though she could not stop her hands from trembling still. 

When he had finished, John stepped back once more. Mary, not daring to withdraw her hands yet, simply sat there looking up at him. 

He did not seem at all sorry. Suddenly, though, his tongue came out at the corner of his lips and a very odd look came over his countenance. He caressed her with his thumb, running it over the bloody welt on her cheek, and smudging it across her face and over her mouth. The next moment, however, he quickly withdrew his hand, turned his back, and walked towards the door. Before Mary had a chance to say something which might have helped to mend things between them, she heard him marching up the stairs, and the door to his study slamming shut behind him.


	5. Chapter 5

Mary spent the next fortnight chiefly in the parlour, alone or with Agnes. While she was still kind to Randall when they happened to be in the same room, she did not trot around at his heels all day as she had before. For Jack, this was a considerable relief. He was able to use his stomach muscles better now, which meant that he could move almost normally, and no longer required constant assistance. Sometimes, when Mary was out, he even managed to corner Agnes and prevail upon her to ‘help him to his study’, which she always did with the most delicious reluctance. 

He had almost forgotten their little spat, when he came upon Mary crying in the garden one day. This in itself wasn’t unusual; he had often seen her doing so while clutching Alex’s handkerchief, or staring out at the rose bushes, or some other such nonsense. He usually just left her alone until she was done with it. This time, however, she held out her hand to him and, smiling tremulously, said how nice it was to see him, and that he was always so good to her, and that he was so handsome, and she hoped the baby looked like him. 

Jack found all this rather alarming. He carefully took the proffered hand and kissed it, with the best show of gallantry that he could muster under the circumstances. Then he went back into the house and immediately sent for the doctor. 

The doctor, who took a long time to arrive, then insisted on examining Mary alone in her room. Randall paced back and forth outside the door, ready to seize the man and toss him out of the house if he tried anything at all untoward. When he was finally invited to enter his own master bedroom, Mary was propped up in bed looking much calmer, clutching some kind of tea in a small cup. The doctor’s lips were set in a thin line, as he lectured them about the ‘dangerous stage’ that Mary was at and the necessity of taking the utmost care from now on. Above all, the doctor said, turning to Randall with narrowed eyes, there were to be ‘absolutely no more shocks until after the baby is born’. He further stated that some ladies’ feelings became ‘particularly delicate during this time’, and that she should be indulged in almost any request, especially with regards to meals, sleeping arrangements and so forth. Jack accordingly, after consulting with Mary, set off for Bath the next morning, to order the most impossible combination of victuals he had ever heard of. 

He returned to find her in the parlour again, sitting on the chaise-longue and idly trying to do some mending with, however, such a sleepy look on her face that Randall thought she might draw the needle through her own skin, rather than the fabric. Gently, he succeeded in removing the work from her hands and depositing it out of harm’s way. He then reached over to her again, meaning to place her now dangling arms back onto the seat before leaving. 

Instead, he felt her hands come up and grab him by the lapels, with a strength he would not have expected from her even when awake. Jack, though skilled in single combat, was unaccustomed to dealing with an opponent who grabbed at his clothes, and in the seconds which it took him to decide that the next best move was definitely *not* to drive his fist upwards and break his enemy’s nose, she had succeeded in pulling him down beside her and rolling half on top of him. 

Unable to move more than a few inches, Jack was trapped. He felt a surge of desperate fury as Mary curled around his side, and then snuggled down into the crook of his arm, exactly as Alex used to do when he was small, after he had taken a beating. Her warm, shallow breaths tickled the side of his neck, as her small body rose and fell with his chest, light and soft and so very, very breakable. All Jack would have to do was stretch his right arm over, reach up around her neck, and then…

She was asleep, of course, thought Randall. Asleep, and wholly insensible of what she was doing to him. For a moment he thought about just waking her up, before recalling the doctor’s injunctions. All it would take would be for her to roll off the side of the seat by accident…in his current condition, Randall wasn’t at all sure that he’d be able to catch her. And what a ridiculous way *that* would be to lose the baby, after all these damned and blasted months of waiting. 

So he stayed there with her, mortified, for what else could he do? He was even more mortified when Agnes, poking her head through the door to see what was keeping her mistress so long downstairs, found them there. Momentarily quelled by his thunderous expression, her face turned incredulous and finally mirthful when he attempted to raise a hand in her direction, only to find that she was, currently, entirely out of his reach. Her eyes streaming with tears of silent laughter, she gathered up her mistress’s work and, with Randall glaring furiously after her, left the room. He’d get that bitch later, he promised himself, and make her pay. For now, though, all he could do was accept that his first night with his wife would be spent downstairs, in the parlour, fully clothed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Credit for some of my headcanon on Alex and John’s childhoods goes to Gigi_Sinclair’s story ‘Amor Fraternus’. However, there are some differences. For one thing, I’ve assumed that there’s a ten year age gap between them, as stated here: outlander.fandom.com/wiki


	6. Chapter 6

The baby came a few weeks later. Randall spent a disagreeable night shut out of the bedroom once again, too far away to hear the details of what was happening, but too close not to be awoken by the screams. At least, he reflected, Mary’s lungs were also stronger than he would have thought, which must be a good sign. 

Once she had finished screaming, the doctor and midwife kept Mary to themselves for another hour. When Randall finally entered the room, he expected her to look utterly drained, as his mother always had after she had finished producing yet another doomed infant. Instead she was – there really was no other word for it – glowing. The tiny bundle of human flesh, which she had wrapped up in a pretty yellow blanket Randall hadn’t seen before, while not moving much, was definitely alive. Randall even thought that he saw a wisp of dark hair peeking out from underneath the fabric. 

Slowly, he approached her. His mother, he remembered, had never been quite lucid after giving birth, and sometimes his father would get a slap in the face if he approached the bed too fast. Randall was definitely not in the mood for any of that. 

Mary didn’t notice him at first, as she was entirely wrapped up in looking down at the baby in her arms. Carefully, Randall lowered himself into the chair beside the bed, groaning softly from discomfort as he did so. That got her attention. She looked over at him, then back down at the baby, and, to his surprise, made to place it in his arms. Randall awkwardly took hold of it, taking care to balance the head, which was surprisingly heavy, in the crook of his elbow. 

The baby, sensing the change, scrunched up its face into a tremendous number of wrinkles, and let loose a shriek which, if final proof of life were needed, could leave no-one in any doubt. Gratified beyond understanding, Randall grinned helplessly down at the little creature, which was now peering up at him with precisely the same bright blue eyes and sceptical expression with which Alex had greeted him all those years ago. Jack, equally sardonic, smirked back. Then he leaned forwards, and scooped the still wailing lump back into Mary’s arms.


	7. Chapter 7

After Denys’ birth, no suitable wet-nurse could be found in the area. John suggested that he might go to Bath to fetch one, callously asserting that ‘in a town so large, there must be plenty of mothers with recently deceased infants’. Mary, however, assured him that she did not need any additional help, and John did not press the matter. She was therefore kept rather well occupied for the first six months of Denys’ life. John, meanwhile, spent his time travelling back and forth to Bath, saying that some fellow officers were spending the winter there. Mary viewed this with some scepticism, but understood that it must bore a man of action to sit about the house, especially in the company of a crying baby. 

Naturally, the Astleys knew about Denys’ arrival. Mary was still surprised, however, when she received a letter of congratulations from her parents, announcing their intention to take a house at Bath for a month, and asking her to come and call. She discussed the matter with John, and for once they were of one mind; both agreed that ensuring Denys such a close connection to a Baronet was, unfortunately, too good an opportunity to pass up. Mary, remembering the importance her parents placed on appearances, asked him to wear his uniform for the occasion, and to hire a private carriage, both of which he readily agreed to. 

When they arrived, Mary’s father came to the door himself to greet them, and, after briefly glancing over her and Denys, immediately conducted John to the study. Mary, thus left alone on the doorstep with her son, timidly made her way down the hall towards what she assumed must be the sitting room. Reaching the door, she heard voices murmuring on the other side. A footman, who was standing ready at the door, opened it, and she entered. Another footman, seeing her hovering there uncertainly with the baby in her arms, came to her side from across the room, and, bowing, conducted her to an armchair. 

The room was filled mostly with ladies; quite a number of them, in fact. Mary had not expected so many people to be there. Most of them she recognised as various aunts and cousins. Two of her uncles on her mother’s side were also playing chess together in one corner. 

Then Mary spotted her mother herself, sitting near the window. She was, however, quite engrossed in conversation with Beatrice, one of Mary’s many aunts, and did not see her there. Mary rose and made her way over to them. 

‘Mary!’ exclaimed her mother when she finally saw her, smiling rather insincerely, ‘but how good it is to see you, my dear’. 

Mary, mostly for the sake of propriety, smiled back. Then, turning her son around awkwardly, she introduced him. ‘This is Denys’. 

Denys, on catching sight of a tremendously long peacock feather in Lady Hawkins’ hair, began babbling happily, and tried to grab hold of it. 

‘But how charming!’ exclaimed her mother, ‘What a handsome little thing he is! Beatrice’ she said, turning to her sister ‘have you ever seen such a merry and healthy looking child?’

Beatrice, dabbing at her face with a handkerchief, said that she had not. 

‘You must let us hold him a while, dear.’ said her mother, all but wrenching Denys out of Mary’s grasp, ‘and rest. I know how trying it can be to venture out with a child, especially when its nanny cannot accompany you.’ Then, looking behind her she called out ‘Marigold? Mary, you must remember Marigold, Beatrice’s daughter. Though of course it is some time since last you saw her’. 

Mary did, indeed, remember Marigold, and tried to retrieve Denys so that she could beat a hasty retreat. Her mother, however, instead deposited him onto Beatrice’s lap and, taking Mary firmly by the arm, steered her towards her cousin. 

‘Marigold, you remember Mary?’ said her mother, and, without waiting for a reply, ‘Of course you do. Marigold is recently married too, you know, to the Earl of Fordham. So I am sure that you will have a great deal to talk about’. 

Marigold took her arm. ‘Oh yes, thank you auntie, I’m sure we shall. Mary,’ she said, steering her towards an unoccupied couch, ‘you must come and sit by me, and tell me absolutely everything there is to know. I hear the Baronet has taken an interest in your son, notwithstanding your husband’s lack of a title? You must be awfully pleased.’

Mary, rather amazed at this bold opening, said ‘Of course I’m happy that mamma and papa are interested in Denys.’

‘But of course you are’, continued Marigold. ‘And I’m sure your husband must be too’. 

Pressing her lips together, Mary replied, ‘I’m afraid I couldn’t tell you what John thinks about the matter yet. We shall have to see.’

‘I heard he is a Captain in the dragoons, and was injured in the recent battle against the Scots. Dragoons always look so handsome, don’t they, in their uniforms, though not quite as much as the real officers of the cavalry’

Mary, outraged, was just about to reply that her husband looked more than handsome enough in his uniform, thank you very much. At that moment, however, John and her father themselves appeared, looking quite at ease with one another, and, heading straight for the liquor cabinet, helped themselves to generous glasses of port. Marigold waited until they had left the room, and were well out of earshot, before turning to Mary again and saying; 

‘But isn’t your husband such a dashing fellow! You must feel very lucky, after all, to have found such a handsome man’. 

Mary assured her that she did indeed feel very lucky. 

‘And isn’t he indeed also very well connected? I heard that his father’s rank and property were not insignificant, in his day’. 

Mary agreed, again, that it was so. 

‘I wonder’, continued Marigold ‘How it came to pass that he chose you? Oh don’t misunderstand me, my dear’, she said, seeing Mary’s look of stunned outrage, ‘For you are very, very pretty too. Only I heard…how shall I put it? I heard that there may have been… _others _, you know, before him’.__

__Mary was speechless. Looking around her, she could see that most of the room was staring at her, and hear her relations beginning to murmur amongst themselves. Turning back to Marigold, she managed to get out,_ _

__‘And where did you hear that?’_ _

__‘Oh’ said Marigold, seemingly unperturbed, ‘In Paris. My father, you know, was a great friend of the Comte de Saint Germain. We used to stay with him every summer. His sister, in particular, told us such interesting things. She was a clever lady’ she said meaningfully, turning again to Mary, ‘And what she said was nearly always true’._ _

__Mary could make no reply. Looking about the room, which was now almost utterly silent save for the clink of one set of chess pieces, she lowered her eyes and clasped her hands together into her lap._ _

__‘Oh, don’t take on so!’ laughed Marigold, smiling around at everybody. ‘You’d almost think you were too dull to take a joke!’_ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Re. the dragoons not being ‘real cavalry officers’: Dragoons started off as infantry units which moved on horseback but dismounted to fight, and their officers consequently held infantry ranks. At some point they evolved into cavalry units, and as far as I can tell, this process was already well underway in Britain by the time Black Jack joined the army. However, Marigold’s snide little statement is based on the legacy of viewing the dragoons as glorified infantry, which was still true in some parts of Europe.


	8. Chapter 8

The others soon left to go and take a turn in the garden, taking Denys with them. Mary managed to wait until she was alone in the room before giving herself over to tears. Hugging herself, she tried her best to stifle the sound so that she would not be noticed, but it was no use. 

At that moment, John entered the room again, probably to procure fresh glasses of port. When he saw her sitting there crying, he seemed utterly taken aback. Making his way over to the couch, he looked down at her intently. 

‘Mary, what is it?’ 

She could not answer him. How could she? John continued staring down at her for some seconds, and then his upper lip curled into a sneer, so that she thought that perhaps he was about to be angry with her. However, at that moment, Mary’s mother again entered the room. 

‘Ah, My Lady’ said John smoothly, bowing low as she entered. Then, rising, he said: ‘I don’t suppose you might assist me. As you can see, your daughter seems to have taken leave of her senses, for reasons unknown. I am not a patient man, I’ll admit, and I’m unaccustomed to dealing with such nonsense. Tell me, do you know what might have happened?’

Mary’s mother looked uncomfortable. John quirked an eyebrow at her. 

‘I do not know’, said her mother, haughtily. ‘She’s always been a silly little thing, and cries so very easily.’

‘Be that as it may’ said John, ‘You were in this room a moment ago. Surely, if you do indeed know anything about your own daughter, you must have some idea what set her off?’

Mary grit her teeth and hugged herself harder. To her surprise, John, seeing this, placed one hand gently on her shoulder.

‘Well?’

Mary’s mother looked more uncomfortable still. 

‘I suppose some ladies of our acquaintance must have heard a scandalous rumour’. 

‘Which was?’

‘You must understand, sir,…’

‘Again, My Lady’, Interjected John. ‘I must remind you that my patience is limited. I don’t suppose that they could have heard anything so scandalous that it is impossible for you to put it into a coherent English sentence. So, out with it.’

Lady Hawkins’ mouth fell open in astonishment at being addressed in such a manner. Then, setting her lips into a thin line, she said, 

‘It seems, _Captain_ Randall, that some people were under the impression that my daughter was involved in a scandalous incident while in Paris.’

Mary, losing all hope, dropped her head into her hands. 

‘Indeed? I think I heard something of that nature myself. And with whom, pray tell, was your daughter staying while she was running around a foreign city compromising her virtue?’

‘Why, with her uncle, of course. He manages his wine business there’. 

‘Indeed. I had heard that, too. Well,’ John continued, ‘you may tell your husband, My Lady, that he need have no more fear on his daughter’s account. She will certainly not be renewing her connection to his negligent ass of a brother. Furthermore, madam’ John said to Lady Hawkins, whose mouth was hanging open again ‘I do wonder what you presumed _you_ were doing, leaving your daughter with a man too drunk on his own goods to attend to his niece’s whereabouts. It’s almost as though you couldn’t wait to be rid of her.’

Lady Hawkins simply stared at him. Mary, astonished, stared up at him too. 

‘And now, My Lady, if you would be so kind as to go and locate your grandson and bring him back here? Unless, of course, you have managed to mislay him too, in his short time under your charge.’

Mary’s mother, for once utterly lost for words, turned and left the room.


	9. Chapter 9

When they returned home that evening, John handed Denys to the housekeeper to put to bed, and he and Mary withdrew to the sitting room. Once she was alone with him, Mary turned to him and said, 

‘Oh John, thank you. You were so very kind to me today’. 

John looked at her, contemplatively. 

‘Was I?’

‘Yes John, of course’. 

John said nothing for some moments, but simply stared at her intently. Mary felt rather like some shiny dead butterfly, with its wings pinned to a board for his amusement.

‘And I suppose that makes me a good husband to you, does it?’

Mary did not really understand why he would ask _that_ , but said, ‘Of course you are, John. You are always so very good to me. I don’t know, indeed, what would have become of me without you. And now…’

All at once John seemed to lose interest, and interrupted her. 

‘That is all very nice, girl. I suppose you must be very grateful.’

‘Of course I am, John’. 

‘It is odd, then’, he continued, turning to her and pinning her with his gaze again, ‘that you seem to have no interest in being a good wife to _me_ ’. 

Mary had no idea what he could mean. 

‘I tolerated’ he continued ‘hearing about you giving yourself over to other men in the street. Even defended you over it. The thing is’ here he paused, cocking his head to one side and pursing his lips ‘I do not think that you are very sorry about it, really’. 

Mary was shocked. 

‘If…if you heard what happened…Johnny! You cannot really believe that I…that I… enjoyed it?!’

‘Hmmm’ said John, still staring at her intently. ‘Perhaps not. Nonetheless, you must realise that most respectable women do not behave the way you do’. 

Mary felt horribly confused. ‘How, Johnny?’

‘Well, for one thing, they don’t usually let other men have their way with them, whilst neglecting their husbands’. 

Now Mary understood. Timidly, she looked into his face. ‘Have I been neglecting you, John? But I thought, you know, that you didn’t want to-?’

‘Well, and now?’ he interrupted her, ‘How do you intend to proceed?’

Mary swallowed hard. ‘I- I’ll do anything you want, of course, John’. What else could she say?

John smiled oddly at that, lifting his eyebrows slightly and letting his tongue come out from between his teeth.

‘You may live to regret that particular statement. However, I am willing to let you make a trial of your duties. That is, if you really do have an interest in fulfilling them.’ 

With an effort, Mary swallowed down her rising panic, and stood up. Walking over to John, she sat down next to him on the couch, and carefully placed one hand on his knee. This seemed to please him. Raising his right hand, he brought two fingers lightly over her temple, before tracing her cheek and finally pushing them past her lips and into her mouth. Mary did not really see what he was aiming for, but did her best to give him as much access as possible. John groaned softly and brought his other hand up to the back of her head, releasing the clasp that held her hair up and laying it aside, so that it flowed free over her shoulders. Pushing it aside slightly, he brought his mouth and nose to her neck and inhaled, deeply. However, the next moment, he abruptly withdrew.

‘I suppose’ he said, ‘seeing as our goal here is to be all holy and proper, it would be much more appropriate to retire to the bedroom. It doesn’t do, after all, for a virtuous little wife to entertain her husband in the parlour, where the servants might enter at any moment. Tempting though that thought might be’.

Mary had not even considered _that_. She was very, very glad that John had.


	10. Chapter 10

Once they were in the bedroom, John closed the door. ‘Clothes off, girl.’

Mary was rather surprised. She and Alex had usually lain together when they were both in their nightshirts, so she knew that it was not necessary to disrobe completely. Nonetheless, she turned around and carefully undressed, placing first her outer garments and then her underwear onto the chair by the bed. John pulled off his coat and vest, and hung them on a hook by the door, but after that ceased undressing and simply stood there watching her intently.

When she was finished, he strode over, and brought one hand down to caress her cheek. He pushed his thumb over her lips again, but very lightly this time, and soon withdrew it. Then he pushed her hair back from her face with both hands, and pressed his face to one side of her forehead. ‘Lovely’, he murmured, running one hand lightly down her side and then bringing it down to squeeze her behind. ‘Quite, quite lovely’. 

Mary, delighted by his approval, brought her own hands up and ran them up over his back. To her surprise, though, he caught them in his and pushed them back down again. Before she could ask him what was the matter, he grabbed her and pressed her close against him. Then he turned them both around, so that she was caught between him and the wall. 

‘John?’

He placed one finger, gently but firmly, over her lips. ‘Shhh’, he murmured softly into her ear, ‘Just be still. It’ll all be _so_ much better in a moment’. His other hand travelled downwards, first fondling at her breasts and then her hip, before coming to rest between her legs. 

Suddenly Mary winced and almost cried out as she felt his fingernails rake over her, hard, before stabbing, abruptly, up and into her. She was completely unprepared, and the pain was almost as bad as what she remembered feeling at her uncle’s house in Paris, while she was still recovering. 

‘Johnny’ She gasped out. ‘You’re hurting me’. 

John, for some reason, threw his head back and laughed. Looking down at her, he smiled his strange smile, licked his lips and said, ‘Would you believe me, little bird, if I told you it’s supposed to feel that way?’

Mary couldn’t help protesting. 

‘Alex never…’

John reached out with his free hand and slapped her, so hard that it left her ears ringing for a moment.

‘Alex’, he said, grimacing, ‘Is the one person I really do not wish to hear about in my bedchamber. It is really very sinful, you know, to mention a man’s own brother to him while he’s taking his pleasure. I ought to beat you for that’. 

Mary, mortified, realised that this must indeed be very sinful. Perhaps he was right, and she _should_ be beaten. She said as much to John, who, strangely enough, laughed in her face again. 

‘Not today, little one; I have other plans for you’. 

Leaning in abruptly, he pressed one hand to the back of her head and began kissing her, hard. It was not entirely unpleasant, but Mary moaned in agony as the hand below continued to claw at her. Pressing her eyes shut, she tried to push back the tears which kept threatening to fall. The pain kept building and building until, finally, she couldn’t help but try to wriggle free of him. John responded by bringing his forearm up to trap her, very effectively, against the wall. Then he shook his head sadly. 

‘Ah, ah, ah. Obedience, girl. Surely you haven’t forgotten _already_?’, he asked, leaning in and pausing for a moment to lick one of the tears from her cheek. 

Mary squeezed her eyes shut again, but shook her head in reply.

John stepped back a little and sighed heavily in apparent disappointment. ‘Then I suppose you really _don’t_ intend to discharge your duties, after all’. 

‘Ye-yes. I do…’

‘Then look at me’.

Mary opened her eyes and looked up at him. John smiled, grimly, and slapped her face once more, though not quite as hard this time. 

‘That’s better. I won’t be ignored, girl. Is that clear?’

Mary nodded. John gave a little huff of satisfaction. He released the arm pinning her, but then brought his hand up cruelly, into her hair, and pulled. Eyes watering from this fresh source of pain, Mary simply stood there as he pushed his tongue into her mouth once more. Then he placed his hand over hers and guided it down to squeeze his hard sex through his breeches. Still controlling her movements, he rubbed her fingers over it firmly in slow, forceful circles. ‘Can you feel that?’ 

Mary nodded as best she could. 

‘Well then’ said John, mockingly, ‘Would you like to have it now? Or perhaps you would prefer me to continue with what I am doing?’

Mary shook her head. He laughed again, and released her. 

‘Good girl. Get on your knees, then.’

Mary looked at him in astonishment. 

‘Well, have you gone deaf? _Do it!_ ’

Mary awkwardly obeyed, kneeling before him and then looking up at him once more. John brought his right hand downwards and began to unbutton his breeches. 

When he had freed himself completely, Mary stared, horrified. A huge jagged scar ran across his pelvis, and, from what little she could see, quite a way down his right leg as well. She looked up at him. ‘Does…does it hurt?’

John seemed taken aback by the question, and for once answered her plainly. ‘No. I suffered the wound in a duel, but that was some time ago now’. 

Mary was awestruck. She had never met anyone who had survived a duel before. Staring up into his face, she said sincerely, ‘How awfully brave of you, John’. 

John, however, seemed to take this for cheek. 

‘No more of that’, he said. ‘Now, get to it’. 

Mary didn’t have any idea what she was supposed to get to. 

‘Good Christ, girl’, John exclaimed, incredulously, ‘are you really incapable of using your mouth for anything other than gawping?’

Finally, it dawned on her. Mary stared at him, horrified once more. 

‘What? How?’

John reached down and yanked his fingers through her hair again, pressing her nose and mouth into his thigh until she began struggling for breath. 

‘I am sure’, he said, as she choked and gasped into him ‘that you will manage to work it out on your own. Should you fail, however’, he added, pulling her head to one side, sharply, ‘you may trust that I will be more than able to assist you. It will, however, be much less comfortable for you that way. You should probably begin now, while I am still in the mood to be helpful’. 

Mary still couldn’t quite wrap her head around it. ‘So you want…you want me to…’

‘What I want, girl’ he said ‘is your submission. And I _will_ have it, one way or the other’. 

Mary was terrified, but she knew that he was in the right. Slowly, she leaned back in towards him. 

When it was done, John left her alone for a few moments while he wiped himself off and made himself presentable once more. Then he turned back to Mary, and saw her still kneeling where he had left her, gagging and shaking on the floor. 

All at once, he looked completely mystified. Frowning, he tried to kneel down next to her, but hissed in pain and instead, rather gently, hauled her up to face him. 

‘What’s all this, girl?’

Mary couldn’t reply. She was still shaking. John frowned down at her. 

‘How…unexpected. This is hardly normal’. 

Mary looked up into his face, her lip wobbling. ‘I-i-isn’t it?’

He frowned at her in seeming annoyance. ‘Certainly not. Calm yourself, girl. You’d almost think you’d never done this before’. 

Mary burst into tears. John sighed, and, with what seemed to be considerable reluctance, took her in his arms. Mary sniffled into him. ‘There, there’, he sighed into her ear, with one hand gently stroking her hair. ‘Isn’t that better?’

It _wasn’t_ better _at all_ , but Mary didn’t want to disappoint him. Reluctantly, she hugged him back. ‘Of course it is, John’. 

Jack grinned down at her triumphantly, baring his teeth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Mary’s still quite naïve about this whole ‘sex’ thing. She really didn’t have all that much time with Alex, after all.


	11. Chapter 11

After that night, they lay together often. Mary was not particularly surprised that her husband’s energy in this department seemed to be as vigorous as in every other. She was, however, very disappointed that these encounters always left her both unsatisfied and in great discomfort. She tried to discuss the matter with John, but he refused point-blank to do so, saying only that a wife should be completely obedient to her husband’s wishes and that she shouldn’t question him. She should understand that by now, he added, smiling slyly, and if she did not then perhaps she should consult with the vicar. 

Mary was certainly not going to do _that_. For a few short days she debated with herself whether she ought to write to her mother or Beatrice for advice, but quickly found that she dared not. After all, they would probably see this as further proof of her wantonness and disobedience. 

For the first time in a long while, Mary wished that Claire Fraser was with her, in spite of the sense of betrayal she still felt whenever she thought of her. After all, Claire seemed to know all about this sort of thing, and would probably have taken Mary’s side whether or not she really was being foolish. Mary had, however, absolutely no idea where she was. Furthermore, she understood that, as the wife of a Jacobite officer, Claire was likely hiding somewhere in Scotland, and wouldn’t want to be found in any case. 

Mary therefore tried to put her own wishes out of her mind, and did her best to please John. This was not easy, however, for he always seemed to become angry at some point in the proceedings. Sometimes, indeed, his fury seemed to grow with his arousal. Mary was genuinely sorry that she could not make him happy, but soon came to the conclusion that he must simply be a very difficult man to please.


	12. Chapter 12

Several months after they had visited Mary’s family at Bath, as they were sitting at breakfast, a letter arrived for ‘Captain Jonathan Randall’. Jack broke the seal, glanced quickly over it to make sure of its nature, and then proceeded to read it out loud. 

The first page was very short. In it, his Colonel informed him of his promotion to Major, noting his many years in service and distinguished record fighting against the Scots. Jack, who had been passed over for promotion several times, simply raised his eyebrows. 

‘Finally’. 

The next page contained another message from the Colonel. 

‘In addition, Major Randall, we have lately received information from Sir Albert Hawkins, Bt, that you have quite recovered from the injuries you sustained at Culloden. We therefore call upon you to return to duty. Our regiment, however, is currently preparing for possible departure to the Low Countries. In order to preserve the chain of command already established, it has been decided to withhold you from that conflict for the time being. 

Mary let out a sigh of relief. Jack gave her a few seconds to recover. Then, noticing that she seemed to be trying to collect her thoughts, and that she would most likely begin simpering at him if he didn’t do something to prevent it, he continued. 

‘Considering, therefore, your success in your last posting and your clear affinity for such environs, you are to be detached from our regiment and posted back to the North’.

Mary, having witnessed his genuine struggle to get out of bed on cold mornings, gasped aloud at that.

The letter went on to explain the assignment in detail. It seemed that the mayor of Newcastle, who was rumoured to be completely incompetent, was having difficulty ensuring the continued dispatch of coal to London. The townspeople, their impeccable loyalty to the crown notwithstanding, seemed to be doing everything in their power to obstruct him. Randall was therefore being sent, ostensibly to help the mayor keep public order, but actually to help keep an eye on _him_. The Colonel ended by saying that he was sure that an experienced garrison commander like Randall would make short work of such problems. 

Jack was not very surprised by all this, but he also wasn’t particularly pleased. 

‘It seems the accursed powers above will never allow me an easy posting’. 

Mary frowned reproachfully at him. 

‘You mustn’t say such blasphemous things, Johnny. I’m sure God has His reasons’. 

Jack threw back his head and laughed uproariously at her. ‘Indeed, my little fool. And none of them good ones’.

Mary pursed her lips, but said no more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The powers that be are preparing Jack’s regiment for possible action in the War of the Austrian Succession, 1740 - 1748. However, I don’t think they’ll be needed there, after all.


	13. Chapter 13

It was now five years since Jack had been posted to Newcastle. Following his arrival there one chilly autumn day, his suspicions about the place were quickly confirmed. The people, whilst not the dumb beasts he had left behind in Scotland, were certainly uncivilized; the weather, furthermore, was savage. He therefore quickly abandoned any notion of having Mary and Denys join him. There was, after all, no surer way of guaranteeing an instant chest infection, short of deliberately plunging a small body head first into an icy lake. 

Furthermore, he was able to entertain himself quite nicely there. The mayor, as it turned out, really was incompetent; Randall therefore quickly stacked up gratitude and favours from those around him, every time he managed to get anything done. With those who did not already owe him, a simple threat to conscript their sons to escort a coal shipment south usually did the trick. His superiors were also grateful, as the flow of coal continued uninterrupted. 

To Randall’s satisfaction, Denys continued to look almost exactly like Alex. He was much sturdier, though, and Jack had a suspicion that Mary overfed him. Not that it seemed to do him any harm. Instead, he expended every surfeit of pudding in an equal and opposite amount of boyish energy. 

Denys was always upset when his father disappeared following his infrequent visits, but was still too young to understand much about where he actually went. Randall, who had no romantic illusions about army life, did not seek to enlighten him. Nonetheless, he returned home on leave one day to find that Denys’ new favourite game was to take up a stray fence post and ride it around the garden, before ‘dismounting’ near the stables and using it to hack at anything which happened to be nearby. He even extended this activity to the horses’ and gardener’s legs, which delighted Jack very much, until Mary spoiled the fun by pulling Denys aside and having ‘a serious word’ with him. Thereafter, Denys contented himself with inanimate objects, and the occasional stray cat as it ran past, and Randall quickly lost interest. 

One day, after they had finished supper and Denys had been dispatched upstairs, Randall was just settling down for 10 minutes’ peace and a glass of sherry. Just as soon as he had poured it, however, Mary entered the room, bringing with her an opened letter and an aura of cloying sincerity. 

Randall sighed in exasperation. 

‘Can’t a man have a few minutes’ peace after supper? It was bad enough having to hear about the glories of mud all evening from Denys’. 

Mary smiled slightly at that. ‘He’s just curious, John’. 

‘Indeed. You, on the other hand, just seem determined to be irritating. What can _you_ possibly want to lecture me about?’

Mary sighed. ‘I’ve just received a letter from my father, John’. 

This happened infrequently enough to be of some interest. Randall turned towards her. ‘Well, and?’

‘He wants to pay for Denys to start at school next year.’

Jack was startled. ‘What…what the devil does he mean by it?’

Mary hastened to placate him. ‘I think he means well, Johnny. Both my brothers went, you know, and they had a very good time there, and made a lot of important connections’. 

‘Indeed’, said Randall. ‘And where might this school be?’

‘Why, near London’, answered Mary. ‘That _is_ where all the best schools are, after all’. 

Randall pressed his lips into a thin line. 

‘Well, there’s absolutely no question of _that_. We shall just have to tell your esteemed father where he can put his generous offer’. 

Mary looked at him incredulously. ‘You’re jo…’ she broke off, seeing his look of seething rage. ‘You’re…not serious, are you?’

Randall stood up and rolled his shoulders back, easing out the knots. Then, making eye contact with her, he slowly and deliberately reached for a nauseatingly colourful vase which Mary always professed to like very much. Contemplatively, he turned it over in his hands for a few seconds, and then flung it, flowers and all, at Agnes, who was on the other side of the room. Agnes ducked, and it missed her by mere inches. Instead, it shattered on the wall above her, and Randall had the pleasure of seeing the sharp pieces scatter around her head. Several of them, he noticed with satisfaction, cut into her face as they went down. Sobbing, Agnes fled the room. As she left, Randall threw a teacup after her for good measure, so that she was forced to duck one more time as she ran out the door. Jack let his upper lip curl into a sneer.

‘Good riddance’, he said shortly. ‘That’ll teach the sorry wench to eavesdrop on us. Surely you could find a better maid? I have half a mind to sack her for being so nosy’. 

Mary, to his surprise, folded her arms and pressed her lips together. ‘No, John, I couldn’t’.

‘Useless bitch’. 

Mary frowned at him. ‘The letter, John. We need to discuss it now’. 

‘There’s nothing to discuss, you persistent little shrew. He isn’t going’. 

To his surprise, she came forward, and tried to reach for his hand. Jack jerked away from her. 

‘Johnny’, she said gently, ‘I’m going to miss him, too. But surely he _must_ be sent to school eventually?’

‘Don’t be ridiculous’, Jack replied, regaining some measure of composure. ‘Whatever put that idea into your head? Gentlemen’s sons are educated at home all the time.’

‘But he has so much energy’. Mary persisted. ‘Being with other boys might do him good’. 

Randall simply snorted. 

‘And besides’, she continued, ‘we’ve got to begin with his education in earnest soon’. 

‘I’ll hire a tutor’. 

‘But Johnny, we can’t afford one’. 

‘We will’. 

‘But when?’ Mary asked. 

‘Not. Now.’ Randall ground out tersely, reaching one hand around her throat and pushing her backwards, until he had her pinned, gasping, against the wall. 

That, thankfully, brought an end to the matter. 

The Baronet, predictably, was most displeased. Randall wrote him a brief reply, heavily implying, though not actually saying, that he ought to go and bugger himself with his own walking stick.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Newcastle actually had several different mayors during this period, as the post is re-elected yearly. I really don’t have any knowledge of whether they were competent or not. If you happen to trace your family history back to one of them, please don’t sue me.


	14. Chapter 14

Agnes had not thought that the master’s attitude towards her could possibly get any worse. How wrong she was. 

Previously, he had usually ignored her when she was downstairs, so she could get on with her work uninterrupted. The house, consequently, stayed nice, and Mary, whom she thought of almost as a younger sister, stayed happy. Or at least, as happy as she could be with that demon for a husband. Now, however, he began to become enraged whenever he found her in the same room as himself. Agnes, who was already well used to avoiding him when cleaning the bedchambers, tried to simply extend this to the rest of the house. That, however, quickly led to him commenting to Mary that she was shirking her duties. Mary therefore begged her to continue as before, telling her that they only had to make it until his leave was over, and then all would be well again. Agnes, seeing the logic in this, agreed. 

Consequently, when Major Randall re-entered the sitting room one day whilst she was still clearing away the breakfast things, she did her best to continue with what she was doing. 

The master, upon seeing her there, slammed the door of the room shut, shot a glare at her and then stormed past her to the sideboard, deliberately driving his elbow into her stomach as he went past. Agnes screwed her eyes up in pain, but made no sound. 

Surprisingly, Agnes saw that he was making for the liquor cabinet. This was quite unusual; he rarely if ever drank in the mornings, and certainly not just after breakfast. More alarmingly still, she noticed that his demeanour was quite different than it had ever been before. His movements, she had to admit, were usually rather graceful, even when he became violent. Now, however, they were brutish and almost clumsy. Wrenching open the door of the cabinet, so that it clattered downwards on his hinge, he produced a bottle of brandy and slammed it down on a side table. Agnes, who was engaged in stacking crockery onto a tray, was startled, and accidentally knocked one of the dirty glasses off the table. The shards of crystal, to her horror, scattered spectacularly around her. She froze.


	15. Chapter 15

Mary was out in the garden, playing with Denys. Jack had watched them for a quarter of an hour after breakfast. Then Denys had, as usual, tried to involve him in their game. Normally, he found the boy’s childish antics quite amusing, and even when he didn’t, he would smile and pretend for an hour or so. Today, however, he could not even make a show of enjoying himself. He told Denys, almost snappishly, that he was very busy and would be in his study for the rest of the day. Denys, unsettled by the unaccustomed refusal, began to bawl and kicked out at a nearby rock in frustration. This led to Mary admonishing, and Denys whinging, and Mary wheedling and begging, and Denys whinging some more. Finally, Randall could no longer stand it, and he kicked his own foot, hard, against the rock. Predictably, this caused him to stub his toes rather badly; however, it did also have the fortuitous effect of making Denys fall silent in astonishment. Randall, teeth gritted from the pain in his foot, turned and stormed back to the house. Fury raged inside him as the echoes of Denys’ cries resounded in his ears and mingled with the ghosts of a hundred more. He had to find some way of drowning them out. 

Jack was in no mood to vent his frustration on anyone smaller than himself, and smashing the chinaware was also unlikely to cut it. Hence, there was nothing else left to do but drink. 

On entering the sitting room, he found Agnes there, clearing up the breakfast things which should have been taken away ten minutes earlier. This made him more furious still. 

Jack did not find Agnes particularly attractive. Buxom peasant women had never excited him much, and he placed Agnes squarely into that category. Besides, she was sour and disobedient, without presenting any real challenge. Her one effective weapon against him was to ignore him, and he generally spent rather longer than he would have preferred slapping her back to attention before he could do anything else. It was really very tiresome, so Randall rarely resorted to using her unless there were no other options. 

Today, however, he wanted blood. _Needed_ it. He was therefore very glad when the stupid wench managed, at that very moment, to drop a glass upon the floor. That was all the opening he required. 

Jack looked up slowly and held her gaze for a few seconds. ‘I. Warned. You’. 

Agnes, still holding the tray, tried to turn and make for the door. Jack strode quickly across the room, prised the tray out of her hands and deftly set it aside. Then he reached for his riding crop, which was sitting where he had left it on the mantle. 

‘Ah, look’, he said lightly, raising an eyebrow. ‘Yet another item which you should have put away earlier. You really are a slovenly little cow, aren’t you. What on earth am I to do with you?’

Without even pretending to wait for an answer, he drove an elbow sharply into one side of her head, so that she groaned and pressed one hand to her temple, grasping unsteadily for the breakfast table with the other. After that, it was a simple matter to push her outer garments up and over her head. When that was done, Jack grabbed the back of her neck, and, planting another elbow squarely in the small of her back, soon managed to bend her over the edge of the table. Still pinning her down with one arm, he positioned himself for maximum reach and then swung at her with the crop. 

By the time he had finished beating her, her back and buttocks were red and raw. Jack dug his hands into her skin, aggravating the welts further. Then, sighing with relief, he opened his breeches and let them fall. His tongue pushed out at the corner of his mouth, as it always did during a particularly satisfactory encounter, and he shut his eyes in ecstasy for a moment as he took himself in hand and rubbed the blood over his cock, which was already more than half hard. 

It was going to take a little more work, however, to get himself all the way there. Jack looked down at Agnes and, sighing with bloodlust mingled with distaste at the sight of her fat rump and the rest of her big, clumsy body, pulled out his pocket knife and began to trace a pattern lightly over her side. This had the desired effect; Agnes threw her head back as far as she could, and screamed like a banshee. Jack chuckled and removed the blade from her skin, only to begin a fresh pattern, this time on her right shoulder. Then Jack dropped the knife – he had no interest in leaving his mark permanently on this stupid sow; at least, not too obviously. Instead, he reached for his oil of lavender, which he carried in his waistcoat pocket, and began to slick himself, moaning in pleasure as he did so. He took himself in his hand, firmly, and began to thrust into it in a steady rhythm. When he was sure that he was ready, he reached one hand around and began probing at Agnes from behind. Agnes, who was by this point trembling violently, nevertheless tried to break free of his grasp. Jack struck out at the back of her head again. 

‘Be a good whore’, he said blandly, ‘or I’ll finish the job with my knife instead’. 

Agnes dropped her head in defeat. Jack licked his lips. Clamping one arm firmly around her waist, he lined himself up and, without further ceremony, forced himself in to the hilt. Agnes screamed again. 

Randall sighed, deeply, in complete satisfaction. He should, he thought regretfully, have done this much earlier.


	16. Chapter 16

John had been gone for more than half an hour, and Denys, always eager for his father’s attention, had begun to sulk. Then, Mary heard a horrid, high-pitched shriek, and then another, coming from the direction of the house. She turned to head for the back door, meaning to go and see what it was. However, to her surprise, the gardener, who was standing close by, jumped forward and, contrary to all standards of propriety, grabbed her by the arm. 

Only the threat of immediate dismissal could persuade him to release her. Mary left him in charge of Denys, with strict instructions to keep him out of the way. Oddly enough, the gardener seemed quite relieved by this suggestion. He at once hauled Denys off in the direction of the horses, and Mary headed back alone towards the house. Upon getting there, she realised that the sounds were coming from the sitting room. Cautiously, she opened the door, and then froze, horrified at the sight before her. 

John, who had Agnes by the hair, was holding her over the edge of the table. To her horror, she registered that his breeches were pushed down around his ankles, and that he was likewise covered in Agnes’ blood. The bottle of lavender oil which he always carried in his pocket – which Mary always _made sure_ was in his waistcoat pocket, for the sake of his joints – was standing open on the table beside them. 

Agnes, weeping loudly, was attempting to rise. John struck out at the side of her temple, rather matter-of-factly, and she retched and dropped her head once more. Mary gasped aloud in horror and sympathy, which made both of them turn their heads, slowly, to look at her. Agnes, upon seeing her, cried out aloud in abject distress. John’s eyes widened slightly, but his face remained perfectly blank, and he simply looked at Mary, with seemingly almost complete indifference. 

‘Get out, girl’, he said, blandly. ‘How dare you interrupt me while I’m punishing a disobedient servant?’

Mary was speechless. ‘Bu-But…’. 

John narrowed his eyes and glared at her. ‘Ten seconds, and then I swear to God, girl, I’ll have you just the same’. 

Agnes turned her head towards her. ‘For the love of God, Mary’, she said, quietly, ‘go’. 

Mary blanched and looked at John once more. He simply raised an eyebrow. ‘Nine…’

Mary backed away and then, taking one last look at them both, made for the corridor and went to sit in a hidden nook by the casement. A while later, she heard footsteps going up the stairs, and the familiar creak of the bedroom door on its hinges. 

Mary entered the bedroom to find that John was already dressed in a clean pair of breeches, and was now engaged in washing the worst of the blood off his face and hands. When he saw her, he raised his eyebrows in mild surprise. ‘What do you want, Mary?’

Mary did not know what to say for a moment, but then choked out, ‘I want…to know…where Agnes has gone’. 

‘Oh’, said John, indifferently. ‘That does not matter, does it? She won’t be coming back’. 

Mary stared at him. ‘How…how do you know _that_?’

John just rolled his eyes at her. Then, almost as an afterthought, he asked blandly, ‘Where’s Denys?’

Mary stared at him. ‘Playing…playing in the stables. The gardener said that he could’. 

John nodded. ‘That’s good’. Then, he added, ‘It will probably be time for me to teach him to ride soon. We cannot reasonably expect him to be happy stuck out in this dull little hole forever’. 

Mary stuttered out. ‘I a-always…liked it’. 

John shrugged indifferently. ‘Of course. _You_ would’. 

This was becoming surreal. 

‘B-but John’, said Mary, ‘w-what…w-what are we going to…do… _now?_ ’

John shrugged again and turned away from her. ‘Engage a new maid, I should think. What else?’

Mary was stunned. ‘But Agnes…’

‘Agnes’, he cut across her, ‘was not up to the task, and you know it. Now, be a good girl and tell the gardener to prepare another pitcher of water, would you? And inform the housekeeper that I’ll be needing a fresh shirt’. 

Mary didn’t move. John simply ignored her and continued washing off the blood with the already filthy water before him.

Mary knew that she should probably leave, but found that she could not. She felt as though her feet were rooted to the spot. Quietly, she asked. ‘But don’t you…don’t you care?’

John snorted, his back still turned to her. ‘Of course not. It’s not as though it’s a hanging offence to beat a disobedient servant, is it?’

Mary knew that, of course, but it still did not make any sense to her. Then at that moment, John, apparently seeing something of interest outside, walked the few paces to the window and opened it. Mary heard Denys shout something up at John, and then there was a loud thump and a crash, followed by a peel of childish laughter. John, all at once, began laughing heartily too. Then he closed the window and, still chuckling, returned at once to the blood-filled basin. 

Mary’s mouth fell open. ‘You - you monster,’ she said quietly. ‘Aren’t you at least a little bit sorry?’

He stopped laughing then, and turned to look at her. His face was utterly blank once more, and his eyes were cold and dead. 

‘Your father told me’, he said, ‘that you were very stupid. I must confess I didn’t believe him at the time, given that he’s such a colossal ass himself. Now, however, I’m inclined to revise my opinion’. 

Mary, suddenly feeling very dizzy, grasped the back of a nearby chair to steady herself, and clung on for dear life. 

John dried off his hands thoroughly, and stood staring at her for a few seconds. Then, to her astonishment, he smiled, walked towards her, and pulled her into his arms. 

‘Shhh’. He murmured. ‘It’s alright’.

Mary tried in vain to twist out of his grasp. John pushed her backwards, so that the foot of the bed was digging into her back.

‘Hush’, he said again, bringing her hand down to his groin and moving it against him. Astonished, she realised that he was already more than half hard. 

Mary had no idea what to do next. Her head was spinning, and for a moment she was too stunned to react. This did not seem to discourage him, however, but instead excited him further. Groaning, he pushed her skirts aside, and began to undo her undergarments. 

‘John?’ Mary tried one more time. ‘Johnny, _please_ ’. 

All at once, his smile fell away. Mary, terrified, watched as his upper lip curled into the familiar, contemptuous sneer. Without further ceremony, he stripped off her undergarments, and pushed her backwards onto the bed.


	17. Chapter 17

When he was finished, John pulled out of her, and left her lying alone on the bed. Turning around, he tucked himself back in, and, matter-of-factly, began refastening his breeches. 

Then he turned back to Mary and said, 

‘I don’t suppose that incompetent wench will have left us any clean undergarments. You will just have to stay at home in your nightgown until the housekeeper manages to find us some more’. 

Mary said nothing. 

John continued, mockingly. ‘If I were you, I would write to your father directly, and tell him in detail how badly your husband mistreats you. Who knows? He might decide that you _are_ worth taking back, after all. Perhaps he could do with an additional maid himself’. 

Mary still made no response. 

‘If you do decide to inform your parents of your…misadventure, today’. John continued, ‘ _Do_ let me know. There is nothing more amusing than a heartfelt missive which is destined to fall on deaf ears’. 

Mary stuttered out, ‘…not…going…to tell them. Or anyone, J- Johnny. But then,’ she said, finally sitting up and turning a tear-stained face towards him, ‘you know that, of course. D- Don’t you?’

John cocked his head at her. ‘It is a shame’, he said smoothly, ‘that you’re such a simpering little fool. Otherwise one might almost think that you were quite…clever, at times’. 

Mary began shaking. John turned and, without another word, threw her remaining clothing, which he had previously laid aside, at her, and then left the room.


	18. Chapter 18

Over the course of the next few weeks, Mary kept chiefly to the sitting room, so that she would not meet with any guests even in the unlikely event that someone came to call. She placed her sewing basket in front of her, but there was nothing to sew, and Mary quickly gave up trying. Instead, she gazed out of the window and watched the first of the leaves slowly turn brown and begin to fall. 

Without Agnes there to help her dress every morning, there was no longer any reason for Mary to rise from bed at a certain time. So, she didn’t. Denys tried a few times to get her attention for some new game, but her energy levels had never really been enough to satisfy him. Once he realised that she had become duller still, Denys quickly began to prefer the housekeeper’s company. In spite of her advancing years, the housekeeper was an intelligent and sturdy woman, and was easily able to command Denys’ interest in the rolling pin, or the gardening shears, or anything else which happened to be nearby as she attended to her duties. Soon Denys, though he did look in often to make sure that his mother was still there, completely lost interest in Mary as a playmate. Thereafter, she was left alone. 

John, she noted dully, did not go tearing off back to Newcastle, as she had half-expected. Instead, he remained in the house, but she barely saw him. Following Agnes’ departure, he quickly engaged a new maid, a local girl who would go back home on most nights. In consequence, he paid her half as much as he had paid Agnes. The rest of his activities were a mystery to her, and he did not try to speak to her, or even to enter the sitting room or bedroom, once again keeping to his study. 

One day, as she was sitting there, John finally entered the room. Mary knew that she should probably pretend to sort out her needles, or some such thing. She pulled her sewing basket towards her, but all at once, somehow, she could not begin. Instead, she simply sat there, and waited to see what he wanted.


	19. Chapter 19

Jack was not entirely surprised that Mary had chosen to react to her maid’s departure by sulking. It was, however, irritating in the extreme. 

To his consternation, she did not drop it even when his leave was almost at an end. Jack noted with fury that Mary had not only ceased teaching Denys to read and write, but had also begun to ignore him altogether when he needed a playmate. He simply could not allow the selfish bitch to get away with _that._ Denys deserved better. 

Two weeks before his planned departure, therefore, he made up his mind to knock the nonsense out of her one way or the other. Entering the sitting room, he noticed that the lazy girl, whilst wide awake and fully dressed, was doing absolutely nothing at all. She was simply sitting in an armchair and staring, dull-eyed, out of the window. 

Jack walked over to her. Leaning down, he slapped her, though not particularly hard. Startled, she focussed her eyes and turned to look at him. When he was sure that he had her full attention, he proceeded. 

‘Why must you do this, Mary?’, he asked. ‘What can you hope to gain from sitting about all day on your own? _I_ certainly shall not care if you continue wasting away in here forever. The only person you’re hurting by staying in this ridiculous funk is Denys’. 

Mary made no reply. Jack continued. 

‘Or perhaps you would prefer to die upon the settee like some tragic Ophelia, and leave him on his own? What do you suppose would happen to him, then? I really would have thought such selfishness beneath you.’

Mary still made no reply. Jack was rapidly losing his patience. Walking over to the cabinet, he retrieved his dagger and turned back towards her. Mary still did nothing. 

‘Or perhaps you would like to die right away?’ he asked, sarcastically, laying the dagger upon her knees. ‘Very well then. Show me. I suppose if you are happy enough to leave your son alone, then you’ll want to make an end of the thing as soon as possible.’

Mary looked down at the dagger and, to his surprise, made a very creditable attempt at securing her grip on the handle. Tears were running silently down her face. 

‘Well then?’ said Jack, still looking blandly down at her. ‘Do it.’

Shakily, her hand came up, and she pointed the blade towards her chest. 

‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ admonished Randall. ‘It will never hit anything if you put it in that way’. 

Mary lifted the dagger, and, the tears continuing to flow, to his surprise pointed it just above her clavicle and began to move the blade, ever so slowly, downwards. Mesmerised, Randall watched as she moved the tip forwards until it was flush against the skin and then pierced it, blood dripping down over the collar of her dress. 

‘Alright’, said Randell, taking a step forwards. ‘That will be enough.’

She shied away from him, and continued pressing the dagger into her neck, albeit without much force. 

‘I said that will be quite enough!’, said Randall again, taking another step towards her. She still did not relinquish her hold on the blade. 

‘For God’s sake, girl!’ Randall roared, finally losing his patience, ‘Do as I say and give the damned thing over!’

Mary didn’t move a muscle. Blood was still dripping down her breast. 

Randall stepped quickly over her, so that one leg was on either side of the chair, dropped onto one knee for leverage, and, clamping his two hands over her right, which still held the dagger, pulled the blade back towards himself and finally succeeded in wresting it from her grasp. Flinging it upon a nearby armchair, so that the bloodied blade got stuck, tip first, in the upholstery, he then placed his arms under her shoulders and legs and endeavoured to lift her up off the chair. The next thing he knew, he felt a stinging blow to the left side of his jaw, and he fell backwards onto the floor, Mary collapsing in a heap on top of him. Groaning in agony, every joint on fire, Randall somehow managed to push them both up again and carry her into the parlour, where he laid her down upon the blasted chaise longue. The wound at her neck, while it did not look deep, was still bleeding, and Randall quickly unwound his cravat and tied it onto and over it as best he could. 

It was an hour before the cut stopped bleeding completely, and by that time Randall had almost run out of clean cravats. When he was sure that she was in no danger, he dressed the wound one final time, put her in a fresh night-dress and wrapped her carefully in a blanket. Mary was quiet again, having made no sound since she had struck him. Jack called for the housekeeper and, explaining shortly that the mistress had had an accident and was not to be left alone that night, gathered up his hat and pocket book and saddled his horse for a ride. He needed to get away from this blasted mess and into some more congenial bed to think.


	20. Chapter 20

When Jack came home the next morning and looked in on Mary again, she was sitting in the parlour, still wrapped in the blanket. With some difficulty, he lowered himself down beside her and clasped the hand nearest him. Her head jerked up, and her eyes were wide and attentive, but he noticed that she was shaking. Her other hand went to her mouth, limply, and she simply stared at him, while he stared back, his mouth working like some stranded carp with a hook through its lip, soundlessly and uselessly, unable to begin. 

Instead Jack got up, went to his study, and sat down. Got up again, looked out at the window, poured himself a glass of sherry, and flung it in the fire. Flung the glass after it, so that it shattered and blackened where it lay, and then flung the empty decanter, for good measure, out of the window and almost onto his gardener’s head. Closed the window, got up again, drove the poker into a troublesome cushion which was leering cheekily at him from his armchair, and then finally recalled what his mother had been doing at Bath in the first place, before she came back home again to die. Not Bath, though. Too close. 

Within the hour, he had penned a letter to an old battle companion in Yorkshire, and sent it by express. Within 7 days he received a response. Not only did the man know Scarborough, it turned out, he had an elderly and troublesome aunt there who was always taking the waters and looking for company. Furthermore, he heavily hinted that this aunt would be more than happy to receive some extra pin money in lieu of any sense of obligation. So much the better, thought Randall. Now all he had to do was tell her. 

Mary was looking out of the window, again, as he approached. Mercifully, there were no tears to contend with this time. Her eyes though, which were usually so bright, seemed unfocussed and glassy. Randall wondered if she had been drinking. He wouldn’t have blamed her for it; would have applauded her in fact. Mary, he reflected, wasn’t quite so stupid as all that. 

Her head turned, ever so slowly, in his direction. She looked like someone in a trance. 

‘You’re sending me away?’ she said, softly and without betraying a hint of her feelings on the matter. 

‘You and Denys. Both. To the seaside. You do like the seaside, don’t you?’ he appended, knowing he sounded horribly foolish. ‘Everybody does’. 

‘Do you?’ She had to ask. Of course she did. Fool. 

‘That does not matter, Madam’. he answered smoothly ‘For I will not be going. I have business to attend to here, as you well know’. 

Mercifully, she seemed satisfied with that.


	21. Chapter 21

Mary walked slowly along the shore, in the general direction of the town. Denys, as usual, was running on well ahead of her, so that she could barely see him any longer. She knew, dimly, that she ought to say something to him, but it would probably be no use. He seemed to have stopped listening to her of late. Resignedly, therefore, she kept going. 

She had completed the journey north in a daze. She remembered John lifting her into the coach, and pressing a large sum of money upon her, and, with furrowed brows, instructing her to take the journey slowly and to rent only the best rooms along the way. So, she had. 

She remembered the obsequiousness of the servants who, on realising that she meant to spend a considerable amount on room and board, buzzed around her and Denys like flies. She remembered the eyerolls and sneers of the innkeepers and coachmen, who, whenever she stared past them or gave no answer to their questions, laughed at her and took her for a simpleton. 

Perhaps I really _am_ a simpleton, Mary thought tiredly. She went on. 

She did not even remember arriving at the old lady’s lodgings, or greeting her for the first time. She just remembered waking up in a strange room, which smelled of musty old lace, with Denys sprawled in the twin bed next to hers. 

All else was lost in the fog.

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback is always welcome. And yes, that does include criticism :-).


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